Lonely Road
by SandraDeee
Summary: Post 3.03. Being here with him was heaven and hell wrapped into one shiny, damaged package. She needed distance to steady herself, but it didn't look as though she was going to get it tonight.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. I am in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Warning: ** Mild references to events in episode 3.03. Please consider this a spoiler warning.

Also, the rating may change. Still debating that plot point. ;)

**Author's Note:** Darn the muses. I sit to write _Phoenix Rising_, and all these other stories keep popping into my head. Argh. I anticipate that this one will be about three or four parts total.

* * *

**Part One**

Lonely Road.

The white lettering on the green road sign practically glowed when the headlights from the Bronco illuminated it.

As Nathan slowed to turn onto the narrow road, Audrey leaned her head back against the headrest. _Lonely Road._ It sounded like a bad joke. Or a country song. Yet it seemed appropriate for the pine-tree lined, pot-hole laden, middle-of-nowhere lane cloaked by night. They weren't likely to see another vehicle out here.

For that matter, they could barely look at each other.

It had been a week since she and Nathan had their blowup. It went perfectly, she had told Claire Callahan. And it had, in theory. Nathan allowed her distance. No more small gestures, like picking up morning coffee for the both of them or bringing in her favorite cupcakes from Rosemary's Bakery. No more drinks after work in the Grey Gull or making fun of his comically bad aim at darts. No more stopping by her office to share a joke. No more trying to protect her.

No more trying to save her from herself.

This was what she wanted.

And she hated it.

_It's for the best_, she reasoned with herself.

That had become her mantra.

_It's for the best. _

_It's for the best. _

_Lucy loved the Colorado Kid, and look what happened to him. _ Was she so arrogant to assume she could have Nathan in her life and keep him safe? Not when her captor—a known murderer—was still on the loose. And at the finish line of her ticking time bomb of a life as Audrey Parker, then what?

No, it was better Nathan become detached from her now. If it meant she had to be cruel to be kind, so be it.

Audrey chanced a glance at Nathan. His gaze remained fixed on the road as he clutched the steering wheel, squeezing it within an inch of its life. His jaw clenched and his mouth pressed into a tight line.

This was about more than the case they'd followed up on that night.

She wished she hadn't looked.

Earlier, they had followed a lead. An off-season caretaker reported that someone was squatting in the old Stappert place outside of town. Whoever it was left behind a calling card: a bolt gun. The gun itself was on the way to a police lab in Bangor for analysis, courtesy of Stan who didn't even bat an eye when Nathan asked him to take it there immediately, despite the late hour.

But as always, they were left with more questions than answers. Now at least, they had something tangible. Of course, first they had to prove that it was the same bolt gun that killed Roslyn Toomey and Janet Soong.

But the trespasser had left her with more than that.

"_A cattle bolt gun in a seasonal vacation home. What are the chances?" Nathan asked crossing his arms. _

_Audrey fought against shuffling her feet on the wood floor. At least he was speaking with her. "Right. This isn't a coincidence." No. This was calculated. Just as the use of the bolt gun itself was deliberate, brutal._

"_Tests will verify that it's the same one. Maybe give us prints or…," he stopped, noticing her expression. "What?"_

"_He didn't leave this here accidentally. It's a message."_

"_Meaning?"_

"_I don't think the gun itself is going to lead us to him, but he needed a way to draw us here, to let us know it's him. I think there's something else here."_

_Both began to search, running their eyes up and down the walls, the floor, and the furniture, looking for anything amiss. _

"_Parker." Nathan tilted his head toward the fireplace. Audrey turned to see what Nathan caught sight of. Behind the fire screen sat a portable radio cassette player sitting in the fireplace, as though it were just another log. "Seem out of place to you?" he asked dryly._

"_You could say that." _

_He moved the screen aside, and she knelt in front of the hearth. "There's a tape inside. That's old school." _

"_Early 80's old school," Nathan commented as he stood over her shoulder._

_With latex-gloved hands, she retrieved it from the fireplace and set it on the hearth. "Tape looks labeled." She opened the compartment. 'OUR LOVE SONG' was written in neat block letters. "One way to find out." She pressed the play button. The boombox creaked to life, its battery evidently nearly depleted. The words and music were slow, distorted, and yet unmistakable. _

'Once I ran to you.  
Now I run from you.

This tainted love you've given.  
I give you all a boy could give you.  
Take my tears and that's not nearly all…'

"'_Tainted Love'. Think that's your message?"_

"_One hell of a message," she replied looking up at him._

"_Think it meant something to Lucy?"_

"_Don't know, but it must mean something to our guy."_

"_Let's look around some more. Make sure there isn't anything else we've missed."_

Audrey stifled a yawn. In the worn passenger seat of the Bronco, she was about as comfortable as she had been lately. Coupled with the low music of the truck's radio and the lack of a good night's sleep in more than a week, she fought to stay awake. The sudden hissing of the radio, then silence followed by the Bronco slowing, perked her up. It took only a split second for her to realize that something wasn't right. Nathan pulled the Bronco off the road with the last of its momentum.

"Why are we stopping?" she asked.

"For the scenery."

Audrey would say that his cantankerous sarcasm was situational, but that had been par for the course the last week in her dealings with Nathan.

He tried to crank the engine, but it wouldn't turn over. He reached over, pulled a flashlight from the glove compartment in front of Audrey, and exited the Bronco.

While he lifted the hood and peered at the inner workings of the truck, Audrey dug her cell phone from her pocket. NO SERVICE.

"You've got to be kidding me," she muttered before following him. "How's your cell phone service?"

Nathan retrieved his phone from his pocket, looked at the screen, and replied, "Nonexistent."

Suppressing a groan, she went back to the passenger side of the Bronco and reached across the seat for the police radio. She pressed the talk button. "Laverne?"

Static.

Unbelievable. What were the chances so many things could go wrong at once? But like she'd said earlier, she didn't believe in coincidence.

"Did you plan this? Fiddle with the spark plugs or something to get me alone?"

Audrey saw a flash of anger in his eyes as he replied, "If I had 'fiddled' with the spark plugs, the truck wouldn't have started in the first place."

"I'm not a mechanic," she defended herself, though the words themselves sounded lame to her own ears in the aftermath of her accusation. What was she thinking?

"In any of your incarnations, apparently."

"So can you tell what's wrong?" Loaded question. What _wasn't _wrong?

Nathan shook his head. "Everything looks normal. I don't see anything leaking or overheating."

"So no cell service. Static on the radio. No working vehicle. And it's 12:23 a.m. That's _great_."

"You forgot the 'and I'm stuck with you' part." Annoyance rolled off of him in waves.

She gaped at him.

"No one's coming by. Not this road. Not tonight," Nathan added, matter-of-factly.

"How far to town?"

"About eleven miles, give or take half a mile. About eight back to the Stappert place."

She looked up at the sky. "Moon's not out tonight. Think your flashlight battery will hold up?"

"No."

"You're just full of good news tonight." She exhaled loudly, her breath visible in the cool night air.

"It's been awhile, but I think Bill McShaw still has a hunting cabin a few hundred yards up the road. He won't be there, but maybe he has a landline phone. If nothing else, we can get you out of the cold."

"I'm fine. You don't have to look after me."

"Fine. I won't."

With that, Nathan closed the hood of the Bronco, went around to the driver's side to retrieve a few items, and started down the road alone, flashlight in hand.

Seriously? He was just going to leave her there in the dark?

"Hey! Wait up!"

* * *

To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **Big thanks to STforRK, Always Dizzy, quisinart4, nertooold54, Guest, scarlotti, Leddy17, Val, Niall Walker, RazielOmega, warrior-chic, Doks, audreythree, and AAliz for your reviews of the first part of this story. I really do appreciate it. I can't even tell you how encouraged it made me feel! Plus, your words fed my muse. :)

I've not seen 3.04 yet, so any mentions of the Guard or Jordan McKee are completely speculative based on YouTube videos put out by the Haven Facebook community.

* * *

**Chapter Two**

The gravel driveway that led to the McShaw cabin was a good quarter of a mile down Lonely Road. Nathan kept a brisk pace, his longer legs proving an advantage over Audrey, who almost had to jog to keep up with him. But hell, if she didn't want him looking after her, then who was he to argue?

Even in the dark, Nathan recognized the turnoff. He and Duke had spent summer times in the cabin with the McShaw brothers when they occasionally were all getting along.

The cabin itself practically blended into its surroundings. Audrey wasn't sure she would have seen it had Nathan not been leading the way. _Rustic_ was her first reaction, as if it had been plopped from _Little House on the Prairie_. Though the rocking chairs on the rough-hewn wooden front porch did make it homey, or at least as homey as an unfamiliar cabin could be in the middle of the night.

When Nathan turned the doorknob, the door wouldn't budge. "Locked." He looked back, saw her rubbing her hands together, and fought the temptation to cocoon them between his own.

Audrey stifled a groan. They could hike back to the truck, spend the night there, but it would be decidedly cold. Even though her efforts to keep up with him had warmed her somewhat, she was mindful of the fact that once she stopped moving, it was going to be frigid. "Too bad my picks are in my apartment. Somewhere." Tidiness hadn't been a priority for her in the last week. "We could just break in the old fashioned way."

Audrey never had exactly been by the book. From pushing persons of interest to get a reaction—or maybe draw out a Trouble—to breaking into the Glendowers' compound, her maverick methods usually worked. Nathan admired her tenacity; quite frankly she'd give a shiny-object-grabbing raccoon serious competition when it came to determination. But lately he had watched her solutions lead down a slippery slope of moral ambiguity. She was driven, yes, but could she even see the bigger picture? Ironic. She'd probably hurl the same accusation at him if she knew what he was thinking.

Nathan reached into a hanging plant basket—the fern or whatever it had been was long since dead—and retrieved a key along with clump of dry potting soil. "Not necessary."

As Nathan inserted the key into the lock, Audrey was grateful.

She followed him inside. His hand went to the light switch, but there was no power. "Forgot it's powered by a genny."

"Which means there won't be a phone, either." She fished her cell phone from her pocket. Still no reception.

The disappointment in her voice gave him pause. What was _this_ going to be like?

He felt wounded and no amount of Patsy Cline and Jack Daniels could make it better. How could the dynamic between them change so quickly? He couldn't wrap his mind around it. So he had spent the last week throwing himself into his work, poring over ever scrap of evidence they had related to the Colorado Kid and Audrey's past versions, finding out more about the Guard, getting to know Jordan, anything that might give him an answer to how to keep Audrey safe from the Hunter.

Jordan. She was intriguing, to be certain. Striking. Sharp.

But she wasn't Audrey.

Was this what it was going to be like for him? Every woman compared to her? Never quite measuring up?

A small part of him wondered (hoped?) if Audrey's aloofness was a defense mechanism, her way of cushioning what she saw as her inevitable departure. That maybe if she pushed him away, he would stop caring. Like hell.

All he knew for certain was being around her set him on edge, creating a cavalcade of contradictions. He wanted to push back, overwhelm her the same way she had overwhelmed him. He wanted to retreat, lick his wounds. He wanted to kidnap her himself, get her out of Haven, keep her safe, away from the Troubles and her captor who obviously still had something in mind. He wanted to yell, cut into her the way she'd cut into him. He wanted to hold her, feel her skin against his, her heart against his heart, bury himself in her. He wanted to laugh again with her, that gentle teasing that kept his mind engaged.

He wanted her.

What he needed was distance.

"I'm going out back. See if there's any fuel in the generator. In the meantime," he withdrew a lighter from his pocket and tossed it to her, "maybe this will keep away the boogeyman. Or at least let you see him."

"Not funny."

"Wasn't trying to be."

* * *

With the lighter, Audrey surveyed the cabin's interior. There wasn't much to see. Sheets covered the sparse furniture. From what she could tell, it looked to be a bare-boned cabin, one step up from shack. _Okay, maybe two_, she amended. The cabin mostly comprised one large room that was part living room, part kitchen, part bedroom. She did note, however, that to the side of the kitchen area was an opening to a smaller room. A bathroom, she guessed. _Hoped_. A fireplace dominated the opposite wall.

Within minutes, Nathan was back, firewood in his arms. "Generator is empty. Did find this, though. We can bunk here tonight. Head out first thing in the morning. Maybe then the road will have some traffic. Can hitch a ride back to town."

Precise. To the point. Polite. No sense in making them both more uncomfortable than they already were.

Audrey nodded in acknowledgement and sank onto the nearby sheet-covered sofa as he began to build a fire in the fireplace. Being here with him, it was heaven and hell wrapped into one shiny, damaged package. She needed distance from him, but it didn't look as though she was going to get it tonight. She squeezed her eyes shut.

Agony. She refused to let it boil to the surface. She couldn't. For his sake, for hers. But it ate at her, an acrid poison that threatened to erode the veneer of calm she affected.

What if she failed? What if all of this was for nothing? What if she didn't find the Colorado Kid, didn't remember enough to break the cycle of the Troubles? Would she come back in another twenty-seven years to find a crotchety police chief whose blue eyes betrayed more than casual interest in whatever version she would be? Would she come back at all?

She couldn't fathom forgetting Nathan any more than she could fathom forgetting how to breathe. But obviously her memories had been wiped before. If only she could lock those memories of him in a box so they couldn't escape or be stripped from her.

Those details of him were so vivid to her in the here and now, and Nathan Wuornos was remarkable. Steadfast. For all the doubts she had about herself, he had never doubted her.

Until now.

Until she froze him out.

Until she pushed him away using the one person who got under his skin.

Absolute agony.

She hadn't even realized just how much she counted on him until he was gone. And it was her doing—or undoing. Layer by layer, she was removing what made herself human, starting with him.

She missed him.

No, that wasn't even it. _Missed him_? Not strong enough. But she couldn't even adequately form the thoughts, let alone the words. It was having someone who had become synonymous with her life stripped away.

Nathan made her feel real.

And then there were the rumors that he was spending time with Jordan McKee, becoming involved in the Guard.

And she had to let it go. She had pushed him away for good reason. Cruelty was kindness in this case. If he was seeing someone else, then so be it. Maybe in another forty-odd days, he would barely notice she was gone.

She didn't want to leave him behind. The thought gripped her, wrapping itself around her bones, threatening to shatter her from the inside out. She shivered, more at that thought than the chill in the room.

Nathan stepped back from the fireplace and wiped his hands on his jeans. "Should do it. Maybe it'll take the edge off."

Take the edge off? No. If anything, the firelight was coiling her into knots all the more, as it cast a warm glow on his features. He was beautiful. Long lines and lean muscles. Strong. His profile fascinated her. Straight nose and the slight curl of his lips.

And he looked haunted.

Audrey looked away.

She could hear him moving around the room. The steady thuds of his work boots on the wood floor, the creaking of the boards, the whoosh of air from pulling up the sheet that covered the bed. He was folding the sheet when she chanced a glance at him.

Oh God.

"Nathan, you're bleeding."

He glanced back at her in surprise, dropped the folded sheet at the foot of the quilt-covered bed, and then looked down at himself checking for injuries.

"Your back," Audrey supplied. "What did you _do_ out there?"

Nathan futilely tried looking over his shoulder. "Got firewood."

"You got more than that." Audrey walked to where he stood, closing the distance between them. "Let me see." She reached out.

"I'm sure it's nothing," he muttered stepping back from her. The backs of his calves hit the edge of the mattress. The last thing his self-control needed was her touch on him.

"You bled through your shirt. Stop being stubborn."

"I'm not—"

She shot him _that _look.

Wordlessly, he began to unbutton his shirt.

"Is there a first aid kit here?"

"In the bathroom, I think." He stopped unbuttoning his shirt long enough to reach for the flashlight in his back pocket. "Here."

Audrey took the proffered light and searched the small bathroom, finally locating the first aid kit under the sink. When she returned to the main room, Nathan was shirtless. She tried to force her eyes from his muscled shoulders and chest, away from his trim, defined abdomen, and the smattering of hair that trailed from south of his bellybutton to disappear in his jeans.

Nathan recognized that expression. Her lips slightly parted, her eyes widening and then averted. The attraction was definitely there. She wasn't completely oblivious to him. That was something.

"I…I didn't see any rubbing alcohol in the kit."

"I might be able to help with that." He turned and knelt next to the bed, sticking his hand under it.

She couldn't help but notice the blood that ran down his shoulder blade or the muscle definition of his back.

"Still here," he finally said emerging with a glass bottle. Jack Daniels Old No. 7. He twisted open the cap and sniffed the liquid. Satisfied that it was, indeed, what it appeared to be, he passed the bottle to Audrey.

"Come sit on the couch closer to the fire," she ordered.

"I don't feel cold," he reminded her.

"Haven't forgotten yet. I need to be able to see you."

Was she making a joke? Morbid humor?

Nathan slowly walked to the sofa, their eyes meeting as he passed her, and he sat turning sideways. She followed, sitting sideways behind him.

Taking a cloth from the first aid kit and the whiskey, she cleaned his wound careful not to touch it directly and cause him pain. It was a jagged cut, about an inch long but thankfully superficial.

She pressed a gauze pad against his skin and taped it into place, covering the wound. She tried not to let her touches or her eyes linger, but as she looked at his back, she couldn't help but notice small, circular pink scars. Those had to be from the nail gun in Louis Pufahl's workshop. He had taken the punishment from the machines, protecting her in the process, putting her safety above his own. Always putting her ahead of himself. Tears stung her eyes.

"_Will bleed less if you leave them in,"_ he had told her at the time.

She could barely breathe as she studied his back. Closer to his waist was another scar, older, that ran diagonally. The result of a smooth knife blade, perhaps? Without conscious thought, her hand went to the remnants of the old wound, and traced it.

This was a map of his world, of his life. And these were only the physical scars.

Keep it together. Keep it together.

It was the briefest of contact, but his sharp intake of air snapped her out of it. Wordlessly, she pulled away, unscrewed the lid from the whisky bottle, and took a swig. The harsh liquid burned her throat.

"Parker?" He tried to sound casual, but her silence concerned him.

"Yeah?"

"So am I gonna live?" It wasn't all he wanted to ask, but it would have to do.

"Luckily it's a superficial wound. Probably would sting but…"

"It doesn't hurt. The only thing I feel is you."

_Breathe. Just breathe_. But it was hard to breathe when she was immediately taken back to that pavement; Nathan sprawled out with a plank through his side using his dying breaths to provide a description of the vehicle that struck the barrier. To help her. Always to help her. And as the life left his body and she frantically begged him to hang on, that he would be all right, he was the one comforting her. _"It doesn't hurt. The only thing I feel is you."_

Audrey took another swig from the bottle. The liquor still burned but a little less this time. The memory burned more.

"Better slow down," he warned her as he turned to face her. "You okay?"

His voice was low, velvety. The liquor-doused butterflies in her stomach fluttered. Their eyes locked. Blue on blue.

She was the first to break contact. "Why wouldn't I be?" No nonsense, clipped. She couldn't afford to have him start showing concern, and she sure couldn't afford to give into the impulses surging through her. "Jack Daniels." She passed the bottle to him. "All we need is Patsy Cline."

"Who needs Patsy when you've got 'Tainted Love'?" He took a drink and passed the bottle back to her.

"What do you think about the song?" Her eyes fell on his tattoo on his forearm, the strange compass points.

He noticed where her eyes rested and began to pull his shirt back on. "Better than the Captain and Tennille."

Amazing that he would remember the duo playing on the radio when he pulled her from her rental car, perched precariously on the edge of the cliff, at their first meeting. He was a man who paid attention to detail. It was what made him a good detective and partner. It was also what made it difficult to maintain the charade of indifference where he was concerned.

"I'm serious."

"I think he wants you to doubt yourself. Who you were. Who you are. I think he has you jumping through hoops."

"But why _that_ song?"

"Assuming there is a message in that song, what does it say to you?"

"I gave you everything, it wasn't enough, and you screwed me over."

"Accounts for about half of the songs ever written, wouldn't you say?"

Audrey tapped her nailed against the whisky bottle. "How'd you know this would be back there?"

"I didn't."

Semantics. "But you knew it _might _be there." There had to be a story here.

"Used to spend time up here with Bill and Geoff when we were in high school. Duke, too. Snuck this from the Chief's stash," he admitted.

The thought brought a smile to her face. She would've loved to be able to see him back then. Duke, too. They were probably hormone driven. Whole lives ahead of them.

"Nathan Wuornos: teenage delinquent."

"I'm pretty sure Duke put me up to it." He half smiled. "Probably would've sounded more badass if I hadn't told you that part."

Audrey lightly chewed on her bottom lip as she continued to draw a mental image of the group. "Teenage boys with liquor and…dirty magazines?"

"You might not want to look under the mattress," he warned her with a slight chuckle.

He leaned back against the couch; she did the same. They did not touch, but the distance between them had lessened.

"This is nice. God-awful liquor. But nice not being at each other's throats," she commented looking at him.

"I don't want to fight with you—you, of all people." He reached for the bottle, his fingers brushing hers.

Her heart stuttered. No. No. No.

She pulled away, relinquishing the bottle to him.

"Nathan, about Duke."

"Here we go." The wall rose, the truce waylaid.

"I need him."

Her words ran over Nathan. "Need him. Right. To kill for you. And when he begins to enjoy killing, like Simon, what then? Is he going to kill you, too?"

"Duke's not a monster."

"Yet."

"You are being ridiculous," she asserted.

"I'm ridiculous? Ever heard the fable of the scorpion and the frog*? Duke's dad went after Lucy. Duke's grandfather went after Sarah."

"Did you seriously just compare me to a frog?" she scoffed.

"That's all you're taking away from this?"

"No, I understand what you're saying. You're just wrong."

"Oh, I'm wrong. Well, then, that settles it." Sarcasm.

"Duke is my friend."

"You're using him to kill people."

"One person who was going to die anyway. How is that so different from what you did with Wesley Toomey? Sometimes the ends justify the means."

"You're playing with fire, Parker."

"Look, we've been running around in circles, putting out fires both literally and figuratively. Things aren't getting better. They're getting worse. I've got forty-one days. Forty," she corrected. "I need him."

"But not me." The line was drawn.

She didn't answer him.

"Right," he muttered, taking a gulp from the bottle.

She saw the tattoo peeking from under the rolled up sleeve of his shirt. "Are you really going to claim the higher moral ground when you have that tattoo? At least nothing I've done has been out of vengeance."

"You're looking for an apology? This tattoo isn't something I would want to take back even if I could." He stood and began pacing. It reminded her of a caged animal. Aggressive. Ready to pounce.

"Did you even think it through? Nathan, the people who've had that tattoo—they're not all good people. Max Hansen..."

Nathan froze. "I am not like him."

Audrey cringed. Of course he wasn't.

A short tone filled the air. She recognized that sound: Nathan's cell phone. Her eyes narrowed.

Nathan pulled it from his pocket. A new text message from Stan appeared on the screen, evidently sent several minutes ago but just now coming through. BOLT GUN DELIVERED TO BANGOR LAB. SHOULD KNOW SOMETHING IN THE A.M.

"You had a signal." Her accusation hung in the air.

"For a few seconds evidently."

"You didn't answer me earlier. Did you plan this?"

"You even have to ask?" He tossed his cell phone to her.

She looked at the screen, read the text from Stan but saw an X where the signal strength bars should be. No service. He had been telling the truth; she felt like a heel.

"You made it clear you wanted me to back off. Was I wrong?"

Her brows furrowed. "No. I just—"

"You just what, Parker? Wish I hadn't so you could tell me once again you don't need me? I got the message loud and clear the first time!" With each sentence, his volume increased. She had seen his temper flare before—though rarely directed at her.

"Looks like you're sending me a message of your own."

He frowned at her, shaking his head slightly. "What's that supposed to mean?" His tone was calmer but she could see the storm beneath the surface.

"Jordan McKee." She watched to see how he would react.

"That has nothing to do with you."

There _was_ something there. Her face felt warm. "I want you to be happy, Nathan."

"Happy?" he spat out. "I was. When I thought…You know what? Never mind. Get off the couch. I want to sleep. You can take the bed." He sat on the couch, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands.

His cool dismissal surprised Audrey. Stung her. She stung back. "She's pretty. Can you feel her?"

Petty. _Petty._

He sat up, glared at her as she stood. "You know the answer to that."

"Is that why you cared about me, Nathan? Because you can feel me?"

Duke had told him the day before—in that mocking tone Nathan loathed—that his problem was he let Audrey lead him around by his cock. Nathan would be lying if he didn't admit, at least to himself, that he wanted to sleep with her. But he would always be bound to her by far more than sexual attraction.

"You know the answer to that," he repeated quietly.

What was she doing? She needed to keep him safe, not _this_. "Nathan—"

"Audrey, you push me away…you pull me to you. You are breaking me." His voice came out strangled. "And right now, you need to leave me the hell alone."

She started away to give him what distance she could offer in the small cabin. She made it a whole five feet_. _

_Cruelty be damned. _

"I'm sorry." Her voice faltered as turned around, walked back to him, and knelt on the floor in front of the couch, hands on his knees. He wouldn't look at her. "I'm sorry." Her hands inched along his thighs, running up to his waist under his shirt.

He drew in a harsh breath as her fingers floated over him. His skin prickled with what felt like tiny electrical currents, zipping and cascading up and down his dead nerve endings, bringing them back to life. Bringing _him_ back to life. A simple touch. Just a simple touch from her could set his world askew. "Audrey." His voice was low, dangerous, a warning. Don't start something you can't finish. No mind games.

"I tried to push you away." She moved one of her hands away from his skin, eliciting a silent protest from him, until she threaded his fingers with hers.

"I know." He brought her hand to his mouth and ran his lips over the tender flesh of her inner wrist. Her eyes fluttered.

"I thought it would be for the best." A part of her still wondered if it was.

"Wish you would've talked with me about it first." He released her hand, reached down, and settled his hands on her hips. Gently, he pulled her until she straddled his waist.

Even through their clothing, she could feel his hardness against her center. Warmth pooled in her. She ached for him. Physically. Emotionally.

These barriers—they were easily disposed of. But then what?

It all came down to a choice.

"Nathan, I can't promise you forever, but I can promise you right now."

Blunt honesty.

Their eyes locked. He nodded slightly.

He would take what he could get.

* * *

* Note: The fable of the scorpion and frog involves a scorpion convincing a frog to carry him on his back across a river. The scorpion promises not to sting the frog but halfway across the river does so anyway. As the poison takes the frog's life—resulting in the scorpion's inevitable drowning, as well—the frog asks why the scorpion stung him. The scorpion's response, "It's what I do."


End file.
